The Focaccia Fatality (5 page)

I gave him the rundown of how I’d seen her at the party and then found her on the floor in an empty room.

“Where was this party and why were you there?” he asked as he made notes on the legal sized pad in front of him. No notebook for this guy, no sirree.

I glanced at Porter, who gave me a nod, and said, “I was contracted to bake for the gathering at Vincent Gallagher’s home.”

His eyes grew large and his brows hiked up his forehead as he leaned back and contemplated that tidbit of news. “This woman, was she with anyone?”

I stared him straight in the eyes and lied for all I was worth. “Not that I could tell. She arrived alone, worked her way through the party, and then seemed to have an argument with a man. I couldn’t hear what was said because I was across the room.”

“Then how do you know they argued?” Bertrand asked.

I shrugged a bit. “Their expressions were angry and they seemed to be getting into each other’s face.”

“I see. Do you know who this man is?”

“I don’t. He was a stocky, middle-aged man with a droopy face, like a bloodhound.” I gave Porter a quick glance and then stared at the table.

Bertrand cleared his throat and asked, “What happened when you found the woman? Did you touch her, or attempt to revive her?”

I looked at Porter’s bland expression and then focused on Bertrand. I took a deep breath. “No, nothing like that. I panicked and sought out Mr. Gallagher. When we returned to the room, she was gone.”

“What do you think happened while you were notifying Mr. Gallagher?”

“I haven’t a clue. I just know that Mr. Gallagher didn’t believe me. He also refused to notify the police, and then he kicked me out.”

Bertrand leaned forward, slapped the pen onto the pad, and asked in a cool tone, “He wouldn’t report this and then told you to get out?”

I nodded and said, “He told me to leave and that I’d get my trays tomorrow. He was adamant in his refusal to call you guys. I even insisted. That’s when he told me to get out.”

“Is that everything? You left nothing out?”

I thought for a second and then asked, “Did you find her cape? She was wearing a white ermine cape when she arrived at the party. It had one clasp at the neck and the cape ended at her waist. It was as lovely as she was.”

He made another scribble on the pad before Bertrand pushed his chair back and stood up. “Anderson will take you home. Don’t leave town. Thanks for your help, Ms. Cameron.”

I watched Captain Hook take his leave and then told Porter that I wished to go home. He escorted me through the station, which, at this time of night was quiet. I glanced around as we sauntered through the front door and gratefully sank into the front seat of his car. Unlike patrolmen, detectives drive plain marked cars and wear street clothes. I was glad for it since I was loathe to have anyone see me in a police car, even at this late hour.

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Porter asked solemnly.

“No, not really. Do you think your boss believed me? I know Mr. Gallagher is a well-known politician here in Rhode Island, with aspirations of moving on to Washington, DC.”

“You’re right, Gallagher’s all those things, but it doesn’t mean he’s above the law, Melina. Bertrand will take this up with his boss. We’ll try to keep Gallagher’s part of the investigation quiet, which should give you some protection from his wrath. He can be one mean son-of-a-bitch, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

After he dropped me off, I quickly went up the back stairs and into the kitchen. I tossed my coat on the office chair and sank onto the nearest stool, holding my head in my hands. All the while, I worried over what would surely come my way. As hard as I tried to keep my spirits up, it became increasingly difficult. I was in for a rough ride, I knew it, and the police department did, too.

A light tap on the door brought me round with a start. I checked the time, figured I’d never get to bed, and then opened the door to find my neighbors clustered together outside. I backed into the room and they branched out as they entered.

“Mel, what the hell is going on? We saw you on the news tonight,” Carl Mack asked, his face filled with curiosity and worry.

“I hadn’t realized the media was there. I had to identify a woman who was found in the river.” I briefly explained that I’d met her earlier in the evening, but left out the rest of the details, like finding her dead. Only BettyJo would realize I held back. She gave me a look, glanced away, and then set the kettle to boil.

“You look like you’ve been through a lot tonight, Mel. Are you all right?” BettyJo asked as she handed me a mug of tea. My fellow renters all accepted a mug as BettyJo passed them around.

Carl Mack and Bill Mutton wore jeans, sweatshirts with their shop logo on them, and loafers. Helena’s attire made me smile. Her fluffy bunny slippers set off the bunny print on her flannel pajamas and the clips that held her hair off her face. BettyJo, on the other hand, was garbed in a long, embroidered satin robe. Her hair was a mess and her face a mask of worry. The only ones who looked fresh as a daisy were Charlie Franklin and George Carly. They both ran shops that complemented one another. George’s was a traditional antiques shop, while Charlie sold fine art and collectibles.

“It’s nice of you to be concerned, truly, but there’s nothing else to be done for now. The police are looking into her death. Identification will be made soon, I’m sure.”

They asked a few more questions, offered advice I didn’t want or need, and then took their leave. All but BettyJo, that is. She lingered, puttering in the corner nook where a sink, fridge, and my office vied for space.

“Would you like to own up now or wait until the morning?” she asked.

“Can we talk about this later? I’m beat, and it’s already morning. I’m so damn tired, I could fall asleep standing up, right here, right now. Oh, uh, before you leave, I will say that Aidan Sinclair showed up at the party.”

“You’re kidding? He was there? Did he talk to you?”

“He tried to just as I was leaving, but I cut him short and left him standing on the sidewalk. Imagine, that man actually had the nerve to act like nothing happened? That he didn’t dump me? He thought he could waltz into my life after not a word for months? Who the hell does he think he is?” By this time I was pacing the floor, ranting like an idiot. BettyJo had taken my seat and let me ramble while she waited patiently for the tirade to end. When it did, I turned and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“I know he hurt you, but you’re in love with him. Maybe you should give him a chance to explain.”

My mouth fell open. I gawked at her, my best friend, and then asked, “Did you know he was in town?”

She avoided eye contact for a second or two and then nodded. “He called me this evening. He tried to reach you, but either you’d already left or your cell phone was off. I told him where you’d be. I guess he’d been invited to the party, but wanted to see you first. He only arrived from Scotland this afternoon. I’m sorry, Melina.”

I ran my hands through my hair, ruffled it about, and then sighed. “I’m overwhelmed. We’ll get together later, okay? I’m not mad at you, honest. Thanks for coming over and for the tea,” I said as we walked onto the deck. When her door lock clicked into place, I then secured my own before turning off the exterior lights.

I lounged on the sofa. The television was on with the sound turned low. The news ran again and again, showing the dead woman’s remains being retrieved from the cold river water. Sadness riddled me over her death and the fact that no one seemed to know who she was or where she’d come from. Didn’t someone miss her?

My energy had lagged until I’d gotten a second wind, a sudden burst of energy that I needed to carry me through the day. Hell, there was bread to sell. No rest for the weary, or whatever the saying is. I changed into working gear and skipped down the stairs. If Samantha stayed later, then I might catch a cat nap during the afternoon. We all dream of things that won’t happen, and this might be one of them. I smirked and pulled ingredients together for the first batch of focaccia.

I worked until the sun beamed through the windows. The luscious smell of baked bread wafted through the bakery as I set the last few trays of bread sticks to cool. I’d set the coffeemaker to brew and was buttering a warm brioche when Sean strolled through the door, followed by a cool breeze off the bay.

She stopped short and stared at me. Did I look that tired? With a smile, I handed the brioche to her and wished her a good morning.

“Have you been up all night?” she asked and stuffed a wedge of the scrumptious roll into her mouth.

I poured coffee, set out sugar and milk and a couple of plates for more brioches while Sean continued to munch. “Have you seen the news?” I asked.

“Just a snippet of it this morning. Why?”

A sigh escaped me as I stared at my grandmother, wondering how to tell her of my new not-so-wonderful adventure.

“What is it, tell me right now,” Sean demanded.

After I’d related a portion of the evening’s events, Sean burst out with, “Aidan is back?”

Was that all she could say in light of what I’d just shared with her? Good grief. I opened my mouth when BettyJo flew through the back door. This was a bad sign. I poured her a cup of coffee and got another plate from the stack on the shelf.

“Have you seen the news? Vincent Gallagher has been interviewed by the police and the media is all over it. Your name wasn’t mentioned, but he looks pretty ticked off. I’d watch out if I were you, Mel.” BettyJo eyeballed the brioche and I handed the laden plate to her. She took two rolls, dragged the butter dish toward her, and asked for jelly.

I wondered how she managed to stay reed thin when she ate more than I did. Life can be quite unfair. Remnants of blueberry jam sat in a jar in the fridge. I handed it over and asked, “What were his comments to the media, or were there any?”

Around a mouthful of goodness, BettyJo said, “He said it was all a misunderstanding. No murder had been committed at his home and he didn’t know the deceased woman. He also gave his usual ‘saddened by such a terrible situation’ spiel.” With a shake of her head, she added, “Same old political crap.”

Sean chuckled, asked what I thought of the whole thing, and then readied to be saleswoman of the day by wrapping her crisp, white apron around her plump figure. She straightened the bow, tied neatly at her supposed waist.

“I don’t know what to think. The police will investigate, and hopefully the killer will be brought to justice. Until then, we have a business to run, holiday shopping to do, and I have to get a Christmas tree to put up in my apartment.”

A knock at the door preceded Carl Mack’s entry. “Mel, do you have our order ready for today?” he asked.

“Sure, sorry. I planned to scoot over with it, but got waylaid. I put in some extras for you this morning,” I said and handed him the rack filled with bagged sandwich rolls and fresh dough.

He smiled, asked if I was all right, and headed for the door when I nodded. He turned and said, “We’re getting together on Thursday night to eat, drink, and be merry. Would you ladies like to join us? All the other tenants will be there.”

The three of us glanced at each other and then nodded in unison. “That would be wonderful,” I said with a grin.

Carl’s face brightened when he smiled. “Great. We’re gathering at Charlie Franklin’s place at seven o’clock. He offered his place because it’s the most spacious shop in the row. I’ll tell him you’re attending. See you later.”

Near opening time, Seanmhair and I made trips to and from the kitchen to load baskets, stack shelves, and fill glass cases with breads. I restocked brown paper bags with our shop logo on the front while Sean added funds to the register. Many of our older customers still used cash, while the younger generation used debit and credit cards for purchases. Sean, more so than I, had become adept at handling all types of purchase transactions.

I unlocked the front door and opened it for Mr. Streuder, who was always the first customer each morning. I smiled and bid him enter.

“Good morning, Mr. Streuder, good to see you,” I said warmly. The old gent made his way to the counter and ordered his usual two rolls, a few breadsticks that caught his eye, and a small boule bowl loaf of bread that he said he’d fill with soup for his supper. Seanmhair thanked him for his business and they began their daily chat over local gossip. I left them to it and returned to clear away our breakfast debris.

I’d no sooner swung through the double doors when I found Aidan Sinclair perched on a stool, leaning his cane against the stainless steel table with one hand and chewing a leftover brioche that he held with his other hand. I stopped mid-stride, astounded that he’d have the audacity to show up after I’d brushed him off the night before.

His deep blue eyes raked me up and down before connecting with my glare. “Lass, you look like you’ve been up all night.”

Oh yeah, every woman wants to hear how haggard she looks, whether it was true or not. I pressed my lips together to refrain from an acidic comment. Instead, I asked what he was doing here.

“Here as in the U.S. or here in your bakery?” he asked with a slight grin.

“Either or both, you’re choice,” I remarked.

His face serious, he said, “There’s new and unfinished business to handle.”

“And?”

“You’re the unfinished part. We need to talk, Melina. I owe you an explanation for my absence.”

I breezed into the office, tossed some papers about on the desk, and tried to hold my temper. I could feel his stare and finally slapped the sheaf of invoices onto the desktop and marched toward him.

With my hands on my hips, I asked, “What do you think you can say that will matter to me?”

His brows rose, his eyes flashed with a hint of anger, and he said, “I know I hurt you by not returning here as I’d promised. Believe me, I had no choice but to leave the country not long after we’d parted that evening.”

“Really? Can I see your cell phone?” I asked.

Surprised at the request, he fumbled in the inside pocket of his coat and handed the phone over. I scrolled through the numbers and found mine, before I handed the instrument back to him.